Wolfhounds

"This one is no more than a pup. He'll grow into those paws."


I can't wait to grow up.

I can see it now. I'll be the biggest of all the hounds, dashing after biting things, animals and tall men with unknown faces. Everyone will be jealous of me, and I'll order them around. If they don't do what I say, I'll snap at them. I'll be called a "good boy" and patted on the head and given a treat, and then I will go to sleep with the taste of warm blood in my mouth. But, until then, I have to suffer being a pup.

It is time to eat, and I can smell the food. My mouth waters. The other hounds are running, now. They are faster than me, and they push me aside, hurrying to dinner.

"Wait!" I cry, but they do not listen. By the time I get to the food, it is almost all gone. I try to squeeze in between two hounds, and one snaps at me. "I'm hungry, too," I say. Nobody cares. We are all greedy here.

The bigger hounds leave, padding back to their rooms, and I am left with almost nothing. I lick the food morsels from the floor, whimpering.

There is a sharp snap at my back.

"Quiet," he says. He is one of the tall men. They all have the same faces, but their scents are different. There's one I like. He calls me "Pup", and sometimes we talk as he walks me around the den. He tells me I'm a good boy, which makes me glad because nobody else seems to think that. I'm always getting whacked on the nose or kicked in the side for doing something wrong.

"No!" they say. "Bad boy." I've come to learn some of the things that make them angry, and I don't do them anymore, but I cannot keep track of everything. The other hounds seem to know what to do, but all of the words and gestures confuse me.

I try to go over the commands in my head. Which is the one that tells me to attack somebody? There are different words - one for attacking anywhere and another for attacking just the arm. I don't remember them. I think I know the ones for running and walking, and also the one where I return to the tall man. Sometimes they don't even say the word. They just expect us to know. How do I know who to attack and who not to attack? I know I don't attack the tall men, but once a man with a different face broke into the den. I was taking a walk with the nice tall man; he even gave me a treat! But then I saw the man with a different face. I thought, this is it. This is my time to make the tall men proud of me and make the other hounds jealous. I sprinted at the intruder as fast as I could and leaped into the air, clamping my jaws down on his arm. He made a sound. A loud sound. I did not like it, but I could not let go. I could not disappoint the tall men. But then I felt hands pulling me away, and I fell to the ground, and once again heard that word, "NO." The tall man whacked me again and again, on the nose, on the side, everywhere. He scooped me up and threw me into my room, closing the door behind him.

I whimpered then, and the other hounds laughed and called me a pup.

"I am not a pup. I am not a pup," I repeated. I forced myself to stop whimpering and tried growling at the hounds, but that only made them laugh harder.

I hate being small. I feel as though I will never grow up. I want to be like the others. Fast, ferocious, and feared. Nobody will want to mess with me.

Every day, I grow more angry and frustrated. Why can't I do anything right? I tripped over my paws during training today - something that has happened more than once - and I got slapped for it. I can feel a whimper form in my throat as I think about it, but I swallow it down. I can't let the others hear me cry anymore. At training, we bite and rip things, and sometimes we run around. I like the biting best. I imagine the biting thing is one of the other hounds, and I chomp them right on the snout. I can see the blood pouring from them, just like it does with the other animals the tall men make us bite. When we have the animals - a rare treat - we have to do lots of running to catch them. I hate that part. They're always darting from one direction to the next, and I can't keep up. I trip over my paws and tumble. Once I do get it, though, I get to bite it and rip it up. I love how warm and soft it is.

Some of the older hounds go to train in a different area, and today they brag about getting to bite a real tall man, not the biting thing that we usually practice with.

"He had a different face than our tall men, and he made noises when we jumped up to bite him." I overhear part of the story, and the other hounds ooh and aah. "He was like the animals, but bigger and much slower," says the hound.

Bigger and slower? Then why do they make us chase after the animals? It's another tall man mystery that I cannot seem to understand. I don't want to listen to the story anymore, so I lie down in the corner of my room, but I hear footsteps.

"How's my Pup doing today?" The nice tall man is here, kneeling in front of the door to my room.

"I am not a pup. I am not a pup!" I yell at him.

"Oh, someone's a bit agitated today. Well, you have been doing well at training, so I guess you can't stay a little pup forever." He sighs. "You all grow up so fast. Pretty soon you'll be out there with the other hounds... I should really just get a dog."

I don't know what that means, but he said that I'm doing well and that I'm growing up! I look down at my legs and paws. I don't look like I'm growing up. The others are all still bigger than me.

I am confused, just as always. Maybe I'll know that I'm grown up the day that I understand the tall men, but until then, I am just a pup.